Confessions of Phineas Flynn
by PhoenixWormwood137
Summary: Ever wonder why Phin's personality changed so drastically between "Rollercoaster" and "Beach Party"? With some help from Ferb, he's ready to write the truth down... but it's hard to face. T for slight violence. NOT SLASH! R&R please! NOW COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

June 3 – Lawn Gnome Beach Party of Terror

7:02 pm

Phineas Flynn

It was after we trained monkeys to juggle bicycles that Ferb and I began to get our noses stuck in the air. Gosh, no, that's not right. I just want to have a partner in crime, someone to share the blame. But the fact is, it was all me, me and just me. Ferb tagged along, at first. But then he stood up for what he believed, and I was the one who went off the rails.

I'm Phineas Flynn, and this is my journal. Well, mine, and my brother, Ferb's. And I'm going to start it out with a big confession. Ferb's going to help me. I don't think I can do it all myself – I don't know the whole story – and the bits I do know are sort of hard for me to face – hard to write down.

Well, here goes.

I can still remember that day really well. Too well, in fact. Just goes to show you what popularity can do to someone's mind.

It was exactly a year ago, the first day of summer vacation - I had just finished grade four. I remember biking along Maple Drive, prouder of myself, just then, than I had ever been of anyone else. I, Phineas Flynn, was going to skip grade five entirely. Heck, I was even going to skip grade six! The teachers said I was brilliant. And I was.

I'm not saying I'm proud of my thoughts. Actually, writing this, I just want to shrivel up and disappear. It sounds so disgusting. It's just gross when someone gets puffed up. People think I'm a nice guy. Well, I wasn't. And I'm not, now – no one's perfect. It's just, by grace's power, I've been humbled a bit. It makes all the difference in the world. To anyone.

My brother and best friend, Ferb Fletcher – well, if you're reading this journal, then you know Ferb – was biking beside me. He wasn't looking too happy.

Yeah, he had failed the grade.

He was brilliant enough. Back then, I was too stuck up to admit anyone was smarter than me, but Ferb was the one exception to that rule. But he 'lacked social skill'. He didn't talk. He didn't have any friends – except for me. And I was his brother. He didn't even make eye contact unless he had to.

So he failed the grade.

And, horrible truth to tell, I didn't even care. Not past the fact that I wouldn't have a favourite desk partner to copy answers from in grade seven.

And that day, we built a rollercoaster.

I think what put the idea into my head was the opportunity to be better than someone else. Better than a whole _fair,_ to be exact. To build a more exciting rollercoaster than the one we had rode at the fair.

Also, why turn down the opportunity to make a little extra pocket money?

But the real motivation behind my rollercoaster engineering was the fact that the echoes of the cheers of my friends were still bouncing around in my ears from the day Ferb and I had trained monkeys to juggle bicycles. Not to mention my sister's aggravated growls. Teasing her, putting her on edge, it was fun! And impressing the socks off everyone in the block was even more entertaining.

And so Ferb and I constructed 'the coolest coaster ever.' And at the end of the day, I was rewarded with – "Hey, Phineas, that was great.", "Way too cool," "That was awesome!" and, "Can we do it again?"

That was it!

Yup, my tiny, self-centered mind was sorta miffed. It was only the best rollercoaster ever built in Danville. In the _world,_ most likely!

And so I told the kid – "Sorry, only one ride per customer."

And the disappointment on his face was like the first taste of blood in a shark's feeding frenzy.

Bigger, better! It was all I could think of. It wasn't having the best day ever that mattered anymore. It wasn't even Ferb who mattered anymore. It was the drive to have people like me and love me because I was the _best._

I pushed the limits of science, of architecture, of space-time. But I was always tied down at home. And everyday, the feeling that I had to produce more exciting rides, more stunning feats of engineering, more amazing calculations, weighed on me.

Home wasn't enough anymore. Danville wasn't enough anymore. When people asked me if I was too young to be doing something, it made me inexplicably angry. Of course I wasn't! I was _me! _Hadn't they heard of me?

One night, toward the end of summer, I also got the feeling that time was running out – that school would be upon me soon. That anxious thought, on top of all the pressure and hunger that fed yet killed my soul, drove me to the most drastic movement of my short life.

"Ferb," I whispered, sometime in the dead of night. He woke with a start and a sigh, but I found I didn't care if I had interrupted his sweet dreams or not.

"Ferb, let's go to London."

He laughed a little uncertainly. "You're still dreaming," he said, and rolled over.

"No, bro, I'm totally serious. We could be outta here before mom and dad wake up."

"You're crazy."

He was sitting up, now, clutching Perry, our pet platypus, to his chest. And there was fear in his voice. "Phin, you've gone crazy! I knew you would! It's been coming all summer long."

I ignored this – what did he know? "Come on! We've got our lives waiting for us out there! Don't you see? No one cares we're young! We're smart enough to _thrive_ out there! We could make it big! Engineer a bridge that's more impressive than the Tower Bridge! Build something cooler than the Tower of London. With our bare hands! A skyscraper to heaven."

"You're crazy."

"Come on, Ferb, you were born there! You've got family, we could visit!"

"I've got family, here, too!"

"Who cares? We've got our destinies to meet."

Ferb actually edged away from me, moving to the far right side of his bed. "I care. And _we're_ not doing anything, Phineas Flynn. I can't stop you if you're going to go out there. And I don't want to make you miserable. But there is no way I'm going to London with you."

What did I do to my brother?

That was the worst night of my life. Worse because I didn't feel bad at the time. I only felt a stinking, spiteful apathy. Wasn't happy, wasn't sorry. Whatever.

And that apathy took over my life.

I went to London. Yes, I actually did. I had made enough money in Danville to support my crazy scheme. I didn't care I was ten years old. If I couldn't physically defend myself in the wide world, well, technology could, and did.

And those were the lost months.

Like I said, apathy. Nothing. No feeling. Other people's admiration didn't give me what I wanted. Fame became my thirst, but no matter how deeply I drank, it didn't satisfy. I just kept getting thirstier.

You think you see where I'm going with this, reader, don't you? Yeah, no. My life didn't work that way. I didn't go running back to Ferb and mom and dad like a good little boy. Uh-uh. It took a lot more than that. Because by then, I was trapped. And not just by the insatiable thirst for power and gain that was so ugly for a ten-year-old to have – but by business, and men cleverer than me, who knew I was naïve and didn't mind taking advantage of the fact.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews :D They really make my day :)

Well, on with the story :)

June 3 – Lawn Gnome Beach Party of Terror

7:53 pm

Ferb Fletcher

Those _were _the lost months. He was lost, and I was heartbroken. The boy I had spent so much time with, had so much fun with – how could he have gone so badly wrong?

Candace and I saw him on the television from time to time. Always richer. Always more famous. Candace, of course, would dash off for mom, yelling that she had to come and see Phineas on television.

But I would sit there, frozen, my eyes seeing nothing but the expression of hunger on my brother's face.

And every time mom was too late to catch Phineas' television programs, I breathed a sigh of relief. Because I didn't want Candace to know that there was nothing our mother could do for poor, lost little Phineas. He was out of her reach, and out of mine. He wasn't in the custody of his father, like mom thought. He was in the custody of fame and glory, the two hardest and cruellest taskmasters to ever walk the earth.

I spent sleepless nights, tossing and turning and calling for him.

Three months into the school year, I turned on the television to see Phineas again. I turned my eyes to my homework, but kept an ear open for news. I was so worried. So worried.

According to the news announcer, talented little Phineas Flynn had turned to a new career. Proving himself proficient in engineering, writing, science, archaeology, and philosophy, he was now trying his hand at music. And he was doing very well. In fact, he had signed a short-term contract with a big-name singer – Phil Timms - to write, accompany, and occasionally feature in songs.

I felt tears in my eyes – I hit the power button on the remote control, a headache suddenly pounding in my temples.

"Come _back,_ Phineas!" I cried, out loud, before clapping my hands over my mouth and hoping no one had heard.

And, just in case someone had, I ran up to my room and threw myself onto my bed.

The computer bleeped.

I stuffed my fingers in my ears.

The system I had set up to announce my emails started speaking. I pushed my fingers deeper down.

But, blessed miracle of miracles – I couldn't block out the sound of the name "Phineas Flynn."

I sat up straight.

The warm, tingling, jumping feeling you get when you've just spotted something for which you've been searching desperately spread inside me.

I jumped across the room, seized the computer mouse, and opened the email.

My spirits plummeted. It was just an email from Facebook. But – wait – it was Phineas' profile. The one he hadn't used for months.

A message.

Hey, Ferb (it read):

Chat with me.

I stared at the five words. Months of empty inboxes, and this is what I got? Oh well. If he wanted to chat – then so did I.

I logged on to Facebook, my fingers shaking as I typed out my email and password.

And there it was, at the bottom right of my screen - his profile picture, beside the message:

_Are you on?_

I swallowed.

_Yes – yes, I am._

A second's pause, then -

_Ferb, I'm in big trouble._

_Ikr?_

I could almost hear Phineas' sigh.

_Be serious._

_I'll be serious when you start being serious, Phin. Come home._

_This isn't about that, okay?_

I didn't reply.

_It isn't about that, Ferb. Its – I'm stuck. I don't know what to do. I've been signed by –_

_Phil Timms, I know._

_Yeah – but the thing is – I'm not sure I want to work with him._

I resisted the urge to log off in anger, and wrote:

_The life of a celebrity. What hardships you face, Phin. I can't even imagine._

_Ferb…_

_I – I hate chatting like this. The internet. What's that compared with what we used to have! What've you done, Phineas Flynn? I used to be able to tell what you're saying just by hearing your voice. Now I can't even do that._

Phineas logged off.

I sat back, eyes stinging with tears. How much longer would this go on?

Don't hate me for referencing pop culture with Facebook! (Cause I know I personally find it annoying most of the time when someone does that in Phineas and Ferb fanfictions) Don't hate my singer's name! I made it up on the spot :P

I know this chapter wasn't that exciting – but there's more coming, fast!

Please review and tell me what you thought! What can I improve? Please no flames or vitriolic reviews! (Don'tcha just love that word? Vitriol - cruel and bitter criticism! I found it in the dictionary cause I'm a nerd.)


	3. Chapter 3

**There was a glitch and I uploaded chapter one again, sorry about that.**

**When you're done reading, please, could you take the time to tell me what you thought? Too fast paced? To preachy? (I sure hope not!) Thanks so much!  
><strong>

June 3 – Lawn Gnome Beach Party Of Terror

8:21 pm

Phineas Flynn

What you've gotta understand is that Ferb didn't get it.

But, then, I didn't get it either. What I meant – what I was trying to tell him – the impulse that had pushed me to message him – it was the loneliness kicking in. The realization that I wasn't self-sufficient. That I couldn't do everything. It wasn't that I didn't particularly want to sing with Phil Timms – although I didn't – it was that, deep down, I was tired, dead tired, tired enough to drop and sleep for a thousand years. Not physically – mentally. Mentally exhausted of seeing the world in black and white, of always striving for more and never getting enough. Yeah, man, I know I've said that a lot. But that was how it felt.

And then the world crashed.

Crashed down around me.

It started not-so-harmlessly. Stabbing pains, throwing up, fever – before I could blink, I was in the hospital, getting my ruptured appendix removed, struggling under the worst pain I had ever felt. Complications and whispered words. Conversations I can only remember snatches of, I was under the influence of so many drugs.

One such conversation was with a particularly frank doctor. The scrap of memory I still have consists of a single bleak sentence – "No, Mr. Flynn, we can't assure you you'll pull through – it could go either way."

And when I woke up, the overwhelming feeling – well, besides the pain; that was pretty bad – was one of amazement. So many people, working together to save such a waste of a life like mine.

Being told I had developed pneumonia on top of everything else was what floored me.

I remember starting to cry. The drugs and painkillers muddling my mind had washed away all my selfish dreams. All I could think of in that moment was where I was in the wide world. In the middle of London. On an island surrounded by ocean. Miles, hundreds of miles, away from anyone who cared about me. Away from Danville. Away from Ferb.

And now I had another life-threatening disease, and I might never see them again.

And still, despite my conclusion that no one who cared about me was anywhere near, one of my clearest memories is the feeling of puzzlement and wonder that no one had visited me. Not one single person. Not the reporters and cameramen who had loved me so much before. Not one of the people I had contact with while in London. None of my agents. None of my so-called friends.

And thus, the world was finished with me.

Weird, how these things happen, isn't it?

The public is fickle.

**Oh, yeah, and sorry it's so very short! It looked longer on Microsoft Word...**


	4. Chapter 4

June 3 – Lawn Gnome Beach Party of Terror

8:45 pm

Ferb Fletcher

Phineas wasn't on the news anymore. It was sudden, all at once – he had disappeared. I got worried. Fast.

Fortunately, when your mind fails, Google's always there to help you.

Phineas already had his own page on Wikipedia. I wondered in disgust if he had created it himself.

Yes, my feelings for Phineas Flynn were very mixed.

The article wasn't too big. It outlined his life – not saying anything about Danville except that he was born there – and career in the world. I scrolled down – and, speed-reading through the part about his musical life, hit the bottom of the page.

But that couldn't be it. Why had he disappeared?

I looked back, read more slowly.

There it was – two lonely sentences about his being rushed to the hospital and having emergency surgery, the pneumonia he had developed and the life support he was now on.

I was so angry at the world, right then, that I just about saw red. The people, the public, they find someone to entertain them, they seduce that person with the lure of wealth and fame – then they gobble them and spit them out on the other side, friendless, alone, beaten black and blue. Phineas, for all his faults, deserved better. Anyone, no matter how cruel or twisted or power-hungry they are, deserves better.

I ran to my dresser, grabbed some clothes, pulled a backpack from under my bed, and stuffed the outfits in.

And I swore, right then, that, as soon as it was humanly possible, Phineas was going to be back in that bed beside me, sleeping soundly, Perry curled up under his arm.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and ventured into the jungle of tools, gadgets and memories that was my closet.

There were the basics in one corner – things like coils of rope, packets of nails, toolboxes stuffed with hammers and wrenches. Things I would definitely need. In another area, more complicated inventions, things Phineas and I had worked on when we – well, before the monkeys-juggling-bicycles incident. I might need some parts from them.

And, then, of course, I'd need pencil and paper for a note.

I didn't want to give my mom a heart failure when she found out I'd run away.

**-Insert break! I don't know how on this site!- …**

The clouds flowed past my airplane window, like waves or crests in a rolling river. The darkness outside emphasised the brightness in here, the artificial light.

I pressed my face to the glass, watching the dark, smoky shapes of the darkling clouds go by, and felt my breath cloud the cold window.

A single tear rolled down my cheek, agonizingly slow.

That tear, that drip of water - it wasn't just emotion on the surface. I don't work like that. Everything I express on the outside stems from my soul. And this tear was the offspring of an ache deep in me – the ache of a broken, bleeding heart. A heart that wouldn't stop beating, no matter how much I wished it would, so I wouldn't have to feel the sting of its every thump against my ribcage.

I watched the huge cloud beasts rear and fall and swell again, and it seemed to me that time froze. I couldn't move. And yet, the clouds continued to billow. Faster than I would've thought possible.

Faster than I would've thought possible before Phineas ran away.

Because that one event taught me that life does things you'd never expect it to. It throws things at you that you don't know how to handle.

The sky grew darker, deeper, and more fathomless.

A flight attendant moved down the aisle, offering drinks to the passengers.

She skipped me, alone in my row, wide, stinging eyes staring out into the bleak night, and I didn't wonder at it. I was so utterly lost to the agony I felt inside, I wasn't surprised the attendant could sense it.

I knew I wouldn't be able to get him back. Phineas.

The panic had set in as soon as I stepped into the airport – as soon as my anger had died down.

Except – you might have noticed, I'm – _different._ I don't know what people mean, exactly, when they say that – but I talk a lot less than normal kids. And my emotions are a lot more muted. Well, on the outside. I don't cry when I'm hurt, unless I feel like I'm going to die with the pain. I don't scream when I'm startled, unless I feel like someone in my vicinity needs a warning.

And when I panic, it's an orderly kind of panic.

The kind that grows and unfolds inside you as you walk up to buy airplane tickets, as you calmly answer people's questions about your age with a simple nod, a silent, "Yes, yes, I am."

I had probably broken my stepmother's heart, leaving her like this. The thought made my fingers shake as I clutched my plane ticket in one hand, Perry's pet carrier handle in the other, alone in the huge, bustling airport. And for what? What made me think I'd be able to get my brother back?

I tore my thoughts away from the past and my eyes away from the clouds outside my window. I was on a quest. It couldn't hurt to try and bring him home.

Yes, it could.

I reached out, automatically, seeking furry blue comfort, but Perry wasn't beside me.

_I'm going to buy him a seat next time,_ I thought, my depressed mind not up to producing logical thoughts.

And then, out of the blue, determination descended on me.

No. I wouldn't buy Perry a seat. I would buy Phineas a seat. Phineas would be the one next to me – obsessively reading the safety brochure, declaring his indignation over the order that, in case of emergency, passengers were to help themselves to oxygen before assisting their neighbour. Confiding in me that he would help me first, if I was ever unable to function by myself and our cabin pressure changed.

Like he always used to.

That image strengthened me.

I clenched my hand, and thrust it in front of me. And I spoke, for the first time in a month.

"I'll find you, Phineas Flynn. Mark my words, I'll find you dead, and bring you back alive!"

Inside me, my feelings billowed like those midnight clouds. I had gone up, then down again, and now, I was back up.

But when I fell back into dark doubt, like I knew I would, I resolved to remember the promises I had made myself and my brother this evening, and stick to them.

_Bring it on_, I thought. _Everything. Ferb Fletcher's finally ready._

**Anyway, hope you liked it! :) THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who has already reviewed or followed my story! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi, it's me, the author, come to interrupt your story with an announcement:**

**I'm going camping tomorrow. Don't worry, it's only for one day, but I won't be able to write much, and I don't have my next chapter finished yet.**

**So it might take a few extra days (I'm a slow writer). Sorry, and I'll try my hardest to get the next chapter up ASAP!**

* * *

><p>June 4 – Flop Starz<p>

6:24 pm

Phineas Flynn

Today was just about the best day of my life. We had tons of fun – I especially enjoyed turning down another career in music. "Phineas and the Ferb-tones are strictly a one-hit wonder! Good day to you, sir!"

The look on his face!

But, as you know, Ferb and I are writing the story of our life in this journal, and I figure I shouldn't interrupt it too much.

Here goes.

* * *

><p>What's it like, to dangle between life and death?<p>

It's lonely.

If there's one word I could use to describe it – yes, it would be "lonely".

There's gotta be someone you love, out there. Someone you care more for than any other human being on the face of the planet. Or any planet.

For me, it's Ferb.

Gosh, that's a bold statement.

Adults talk about "romantic love," and man, I have no idea what they're getting at. A girl, a boy, alone in the city of love? Softness and sweetness, and candy, and gum?

For me, love is best friends. Forever. The smell of motor oil and confidence in the morning. The knowledge that together with your buddy, you can do _anything. _For me, love's my family. My brother.

To me, love's what Ferb did for me, when I was alone on that hospital bed.

Of course, I didn't realize how much he was planning until later. Because when he first visited, the only thing he brought was a book and a single word of comfort.

The book was the Odyssey, the ancient Greek adventure. And the word was my name.

He came in, I assume, when I was asleep. Because I don't recall being aware of his entrance.

I just remember his hand in mine.

That just about gave me a heart attack.

I remember jolting awake, watching my heart rate skyrocket on the monitor beside me, looking down at my hands in confusion.

I could tell it wasn't a doctor's touch.

And there, lying on top of the crisp bed sheets covering my broken-down body, two hands were wrapped around one of my own in a protective, secure grip.

I looked up.

And there was my brother, tears, the rare tears I had only ever seen him use once before, streaming down his face.

"Oh my gosh, Ferb, what are you doing here?"

He silently returned the question, his mismatched eyes blinking slowly over the film of tears covering them.

I had forgotten how easy it was for me to read him. But it all came rushing back, and, even though I didn't particularly want to find out what he was thinking, I found I couldn't stop myself from knowing. If a scholar looks at a combination of letters on a page, he can't help but know what word they spell. So it was with Ferb and I.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he was thinking.

I closed my eyes angrily and crossed my arms. If he didn't want to ask me that question out loud, then I wasn't going to answer. For the first time in weeks, conceit rose up, paired with my anger. I was here, in London, because I was a success. Sure, I was sick and abandoned now, but as soon as I got better, I'd be popular again. What did Ferb know, anyway?

"_Phineas_," he said.

You'd have to hear his tone, because I don't know how to describe it. He's got a voice that can express so much in so little time. And that one word from him said more than a hundred from anyone else could've. He wasn't disappointed, he wasn't angry, he wasn't sad, he wasn't reproachful. He was all of them at the same time. A blend that could bring me to my knees.

And I fired up. He made me feel guilty, he made me feel filthy. He showed me I had done the wrong thing in running away from Danville.

And I hated him for it.

Yeah, that's the dirt inside me.

I just said I loved him more than anything else in the world. But it wasn't easy to get to that place. Not because of him, but because of me. My fallen heart couldn't stand the thought it had been wrong. Not then. Not in the middle of the darkest time of my life.

But it was what I needed to hear.

The correction, the chastisement – it hurt, but it was good for me. Like pulling a Band-Aid off.

But at the time, all I felt was the pain and the fear and the hate. I didn't want to lose what I thought I had gained.

"Go away," I snapped.

He was nodding, I knew, even though my eyes were closed.

I felt something placed in my crossed arms. Something with sharp angles, something rectangular.

And then he was gone.

I opened my eyes as the door closed, and looked down. Resting gently on my chest was Ferb's favourite book – his well-worn copy of The Odyssey.

At first, I didn't know what it meant.

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><p><strong>Anyone have any thoughts on this chapter? Criticism? Don't forget to review :D<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this one took SO very long. The camping trip ended up being three days long. And writer's block, the deadly kind that bites you just in the middle of the story, jumped on me and started attacking. It was only the sword of planning that kept the fiend at bay!**

**Sorry, yeah, cheesy, I know, and not what you came here for.**

**So, here's the story!**

**Oh, and, PS, I changed the rating to be safe – I thought this chapter was a touch violent and threatening for a K-plus.**

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><p>June 4 – Flop Starz<p>

9:06 pm

Phineas Flynn

Yeah – hi – it's me, Phineas, again.

Ferb was going to write this next entry. But he's asleep now, and I'm journaling under the covers with a flashlight.

By the way, the whole concept of tenting under the sheets with a small beam of light is totally overrated. I could see the cosiness factor, if I had a good book - curled up here without anyone else knowing what I'm doing.

Wouldn't the guilt sort of ruin it for you, though? If you knew you weren't supposed to be reading?

But that's not why I don't like it. It's just, I'm so used to sharing everything with Ferb – and I'm doing this completely behind his back. He told me not to.

But I had to.

This is the longest, worst part of my confessions. And Ferb would've just put a brave face on it, said it wasn't my fault or something. But it was – it was all completely my fault.

It still keeps me up some nights – I almost killed my brother.

.

.

When I was flipping through professions, before I got sick, I went from engineering, to writing, to science, to archaeology, to philosophy, to music. And then I found what I thought was my true calling.

Invention.

Of course, who's to say it's _not _my true calling? I think it might be. I love machines. I love tinkering with parts. It's just, the machine I designed was extremely destructive.

.

Why do people try drugs and alcohol? I'm not sure of all the reasons. I'm just a kid. But I think one of them is because they want to forget. Drown their troubles. I know that feeling. I know that feeling exactly.

And that's why I built a brainwashing machine. It was sort of like wearing a microwave on your head – except that the beams, the rays, that would normally heat your food, instead targeted and damaged the parts of your brain to do with memory. Certain memories. The memories you wanted to get rid of.

I built only one prototype, and programed to it to erase all recollection of my family, my friends, and, most of all, my brother.

I figured if I couldn't remember Ferb in my waking life, maybe he wouldn't haunt my nightmares, begging me to come home. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty all the time.

There was a man who said he'd buy the prototype from me for a considerable amount of money – Edwin Radford. He had become quite interested in me when I started inventing and I knew, right off the bat, he was a shifty character. He acted strangely – sideways glances and muttered words – and his weird attitude didn't improve as I got to know him. It worsened. Still, he had offered me so much money I couldn't resist.

But there was one condition. I had to test it out, first, to see if it worked.

Yeah, duh, I thought. That was why I had built it in the first place. To use on myself.

But I still felt bad. I could still hear that tremor in my brother's voice – "You're crazy! Phin, you've gone crazy!"

And so I put another condition down on the contract Radford persuaded me to sign. A loophole.

Someone of equal intelligence to me could test out the prototype instead.

Someone like Ferb.

Of course, Radford didn't know such a person existed. And I wasn't going to tell him. I wasn't even going to admit to myself that Ferb was the person I had in mind when I wrote that loophole. I thought it was just a way to ease my conscience.

I think the real truth is, I was a little scared and a little guilty to let go of my whole childhood like that – and so my subconscious went to the person I had always been able to rely on before. Ferb.

I don't know how my brother found out about the contract. It had been months and months since I signed it. But he did. He got a hold of it, took an IQ test to prove his intelligence, and, after a whole bunch of legal struggle, it was his name on the papers, and not mine.

Then he was in my hospital room again, the same sad look in his eyes as last time.

"I'm going to test that memory machine of yours," he said, his voice calm and low.

I sat up. "Are you kidding? You can't do that!"

He just blinked at me. It was a stubborn blink.

I lay back, my arms folded, my eyes closed, just like last time. But this time, instead of plain anger and hate, I was trying to shield something. Trying to hide the tears that had just threatened to spill over my cheeks.

If he tried that machine – he'd never come back.

.

Radford knew I'd discovered his darkest secrets. He was a drug dealer and a backstabber. He knew I could tell the police anytime I felt like it.

Fortunately for him, I was too scared to whisper a word to anyone.

.

Can I interrupt this narrative for a second? I'm telling this all wrong. My head hurts just reading this. It's messed up. I've got to go back and explain.

Edwin Radford was extremely interested in my machine, back when it was new. Because he dealt in illegal substances that helped you forget your past and your troubles. Drugs that could make you happy, if only for a little while.

But my machine could help him make even more money. If he charged an extortionate amount for each customer who tried it, he could soon become rich, feeding on people's insecurities and fears. He could offer people freedom and happiness – all by eliminating incriminating memories.

When I found out he was a conspirator in a huge network of drug-dealers and drunks, I had every intention of telling the police. But he threatened me with terrible things – physical and mental. The least of the things he promised to do if I ever told anyone about his crimes was hunt down my family in Danville and kill them all. But, I'm sorry to say, the threats that really struck home for me were the ones that challenged my ability to ever be rich, famous, or popular ever again.

And so I didn't speak up.

.

What does this have to do with Ferb?

Well, Radford still had a contract with me. It seemed to him the perfect time to get rid of a liability like me. And so he rigged up my machine – instead of just targeting memories, he programmed it to damage vital functions of the brain. To kill whoever used it.

I know because he told me. Because he described in detail just how untraceable the murder would be. How I couldn't possibly convince anyone it worked in such a deadly way before it killed me, because it would only destroy someone with a brain as complex and capable as mine.

Do you see where I'm going, reader?

I was too scared to tell him, but if Ferb went through with the contract, if Ferb took my place, he would die.

.

And here's the bit I think Ferb would've smoothed over, if he'd written this entry:

I let him walk out of that hospital room without saying a word about the danger he was putting himself in. I didn't try to communicate anything. I just sat there – a little bit sad I'd have to lose someone who appreciated me so much, but secretly relived that a scapegoat had wandered so willingly into the trap laid out for me.

Sometimes, I look back at that day and hate myself.

* * *

><p><strong>When writing, I discovered something. This story's hero is NOT Phineas. :P Don't hate him too, too much, though, please. And please tell me if this story's confusing. Thanks for reading!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

June 5 - The Fast and the Phineas

5:42 am

Ferb Fletcher

Oh, Phineas. What am I going to do with him?

Well, I guess the damage is done. And I'm not going to try and justify him. I'm not going to pardon his acts or try and excuse his behaviour. But we've all got selfishness like that inside us. It's a universal trait.

I woke up ten minutes ago – nightmare. No – no, I'm not going to write about that. Chances are, if I don't describe it, it'll just fade away, and I won't have to think about it. The point is, I looked over at Phineas' bed, and saw that he'd fallen asleep with his head under the covers and a torch – excuse me, a flashlight, still shining near the pillow (sorry, I forgot: you Americans talk strangely). Closer inspection revealed a pencil in his hand and our journal lying open with a new entry scribbled down.

So now it's my turn.

I guess I'll pick up the action where Phineas left it off – me walking out of his hospital room, ears empty of warning words.

It was raining hard, water dampening the London streets and drumming against the roof of the cab I called. Umbrellas and huddled figures draped in sopping mackintoshes trudged up and down the streets, and the steady splash of welly-ed feet was a refreshing sound above the rush of traffic.

I met with Edwin Radford that afternoon, to fix a date on which to erase my memories. We decided the next day would be fine – it worked with his busy schedule, as well as my own desire to get it over with.

The rest of the evening I rode around on the Tube, the underground network of trains in London, tuned out and wandering in my own mind, which I knew I would only possess for twenty-four more hours.

I must've been a strange sight to civilian commuters – a withdrawn, ten-year-old, green-haired boy, holding onto a rail and swaying to the motion of the train like some deep-minded businessman. Completely alone – without a parent or a guardian.

Ah, I'm falling back asleep. Five forty-five is too early for me. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to write.

It was very, very late at night when I finally returned to my grandmother's house. I flopped down onto my huge, king-sized bed, feeling very small and lost in such a big, cruel world. I drew a pad of paper from my suitcase, pulled a pencil from behind my ear, and penned a note to my grandmother, thanking her for letting me stay over for so long, and telling her I might not be able to come back next evening. Then I set down my pencil and let a few tears fall on the paper at the thought of my grandmother's daughter – my mother – dead for six years but always in my family's memories.

Well – not mine. Not tomorrow.

And so I cried my last tears for her.

.

But I wasn't sorry to lose my recollection of our times together – not if it meant I could save Phineas.

.

Ah, I'm so tired, but I can't leave it there.

It's too cliché, too heroic, even if it _is_ true, for me to just leave on the page.

Maybe if I tell you a bit more about myself, about my mother, you'll understand what Phineas meant – means – to me. You'll understand that my statement about saving my brother was real and true and so sincere I'd write it again and again and again.

I guess the only place to start is the beginning – the root of the problem.

My mum died when I was four.

Even though I was young, her death was embedded permanently in my memory, along with her smiles and hugs.

I stopped talking altogether for about six months, and I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it was because I was confused and just wanted to drink as much information in as I could. Maybe I was too stunned to say anything – she was gone so fast. I had been an extremely chatty boy prior to the car crash that took mum, and the silence, such a drastic change at such an impressionable age, got into me and affected me for life – like Helen Keller's scarlet fever.

I remember, very, very clearly, one morning three months after mum passed. I was eating breakfast while dad surveyed me over his newspaper. His eyes were concerned and sad, like they always were.

"Ferb, my boy," he said, "Won't you say anything to daddy?"

I looked up at him, and shook my head.

"Nothing? What if I told you we're moving to America?"

I blinked, but stayed silent.

"Yes, a change of scene, it's just what you need," he said, ruffling his newspaper but keeping his eyes on me. "That's what the doctor said, anyway."

I looked back down on my cereal. I didn't _need_ a doctor. I knew that, even at the age of four. There was nothing wrong with me. I'd just decided not to talk. I didn't _want _to talk_._

Well, it turned out that America, at first, was not what_ I_ needed, but what _he_ needed. He found someone there – a pretty single woman with two small children, Phineas and Candace.

Pretty soon, he asked me if he had my permission to ask this woman, Linda, to marry him.

I nodded.

But the nod had been a sort of spur-of-the-moment action, and on the car ride to Linda's house, after the engagement, I seriously considered recanting my permission. In all the fairy-tales, stepmothers were horrible, and stepsiblings were worse! What if my new family turned out to be monsters or ugly brats like in the story of Cinderella?

I clutched the little British flag I had brought closer to my chest as I walked through Linda's front door and into the living room.

A red-haired woman swooped down on me, gathering me in her arms and smiling at me. "Oh, Lawrence, he's adorable!" she said.

"Hi, sweetie," she greeted me.

"Ferb, this is Linda," dad said.

I waved shyly.

"How are you?" she asked me.

I was feeling optimistic at the sight of such a friendly face, but I couldn't say so. So I jus stared up at her and hoped dad would explain.

He did. "Ah, yes," he said, "Remember how I told you he doesn't talk much?"

Linda nodded. "Yeah."

"Well – he doesn't really talk at all."

"Well," she said kindly, "Maybe we can help him find his voice."

I shook my head wildly, but dad just smiled and said, "I hope so."

"Would you like to meet Phineas?" Linda asked me, and I shrugged and nodded.

"Candace! Phineas!" she called.

A girl bounded down the stairs, followed closely by a tiny boy. Both had their mother's red hair and bright blue eyes, and both wore identical wide smiles.

"This is Candace, your new big sister," Linda said. "And here's Phineas."

Phineas beamed.

He was _small_, but he seemed to contain energy enough for twenty bigger boys in his pint-sized body. Excitement and zest and _happiness_ just radiated out of him in electrical waves.

"HI!" he cried, and jumped toward me.

And I _smiled_.

For the first time in six months, the corners of my mouth turned upward, and I felt my face split open in a massive grin.

And as my outward appearance changed, my heart lifted and soared.

It was only for a second, before I remembered my mother again, but in that second, a weight seemed to lift out of the pit of my stomach. It was small, but it made all the difference in the world.

The pain was gone for a heartbeat, and that heartbeat gave me a vision, a taste of the freedom and happiness I hadn't felt for half a year.

And the source of my joy was the bright, happy smile on Phineas' face. He seemed so carefree, it made me wonder if I could be, too.

"Wow, I love your hair! It's GREEN! How'd it get like that? Was it _born _like that? Can I touch it?" he poked a tuft of my hair, and then stared at his finger. I wondered if he was catching his breath from saying so much in one breath.

"Did you _build_ that?" he gasped, pointing at the flag I held in my hands.

Well – I had stapled the material to the pole, so – yes.

I nodded.

"AWESOME!"

_It's just a flag,_ I thought, but I couldn't help smiling again.

"We're going to be best friends," Phineas said, with assurance in his voice. "BEST, best friends. I like to build stuff, too! Come on, I'll show you!"

And with that, he grabbed my hand and dragged me off to his room upstairs.

He had a huge box of Legos there, and we pieced together a castle. It was twice as tall as Phineas, because we built it from the top down, placing the upper sections on top of the lower ones. It was Phin's idea.

"We did some great work today, bro," Phineas said, three hours later, staring up at the mega-structure.

And with that, he pulled me into a one-armed, congratulatory hug.

It only lasted a second. But it reminded me of my mum. The quick, casual squeeze she gave me before – before she went out to the grocery store and never came back.

I wanted to cry.

But I didn't.

I spoke.

"Yes, Phineas. Yes, yes we did."

.

And then I was free.

.

Have you ever felt sad, or angry, or helpless, or depressed, or boxed up, and then cried, and let it all out? Have you ever felt some huge anvil weighing you down take off and fly away?

Imagine that, except a hundred times better. I hadn't been ready to lose my mum. I had felt bogged down by confusion – where had she gone? Why had God let her go? – but Phineas made it better. I won't say completely better. I still don't talk as much as normal kids. But, to use the Helen Keller illustration again – Helen was still never able to hear or see, even after she learned to speak and write. Some things stay. But some things get immeasurably better. Because of a certain someone, who frees you to be who you were really meant to be.

Phineas showed me the innocence of never-ending summer days, he taught me the fun of letting your ice cream and cherry soda drip down your chin, he demonstrated the optimistic, bright catchphrases I felt hesitant to say. "Ferb! I know what we're gonna do today!"

.

.

It's not easy to see someone like that fall so far into darkness.

It's even harder to give up their tiny chance of redemption.

If one of us had to try this memory-eraser on, well, I was going to make sure it was me. It's not really heroism. It's just – I don't know. I hope I've made myself a little clearer. And now, I really am too tired to write any more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I really appreciate them! And I'm SO sorry this took so long. All I have for a defense of the lateness of this is the age-old excuse that I have school and caught another mild case of writer's block.**

* * *

><p>June 5 – The Fast and the Phineas<p>

7:30 am

Ferb Fletcher - if Phineas gets to write two entries in a row, then so do I.

.

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of rain-washed lavender outside my window. I sat up, and saw a grey cloud cover low over the city.

Pessimism hung over me, just like those clouds. I couldn't work up the energy to put a positive spin on the impending demolition of my brain. Phineas had always balanced me out with his unquenchable happiness. What would he have said in this situation?

My imagination failed me – all I could summon was crushing silence. But then, imagination had never been my strong point. Phineas was the one who'd dream things up, and I was the one who made them work.

Ah, it was a vicious cycle. I'd try and think of something to comfort myself, but Phineas would always pop up, grinning, as the only person I'd ever sought consolation in, and I'd have no choice but blink back a tear or two and … try to think of something to comfort myself.

I lay there, immersed in self-indulgent sadness, until my clock buzzed seven a.m., startling me out of my trance. By an effort of will, I sat up, shook off the fear and cold, and reminded myself that I was my brother's last chance. If I didn't do this for him, he'd have to do it himself. And then his last opportunity for freedom would be gone.

Greenwich.

It was a random thought, unrelated to my current state of mind, but it seemed oddly in place. Greenwich was where I would go to spend my day.

.

I stood on the line between West and East, at the Prime Meridian, and felt myself between two worlds. Failure and Success. Life and Death.

But either way would still mean freedom for Phineas Flynn.

.

Wait a minute!

I haven't told you the most crucial piece of information – the axiom of my feelings – I'm so sorry for keeping you in the dark like that.

It's the science fiction, swashbuckling historical romance, tell-all potboiler, mystery, satire, buddy cop adventure, tragedy, how-to action novel Phineas and I are writing (it'll probably end up being about 28 volumes long). It's got me in a story-writing mood. And story writing requires suspense. So I haven't told you – I knew it was a death trap.

The machine that Phineas built, and that Radford modified. I knew it was just waiting to kill me.

Actually, it made my job easier and more hopeful. If I had thought I was just going be deprived of all my memories and wander around with no purpose in life – well, that would've been hard to face. I could've ended up losing my _soul._ And souls are sort of irreplaceable. I might not have been able to do it.

But my _life_ – that's a whole lot easier to lay down.

I hadn't given up hope, though! I had a plan. A plan that might, if it worked – and there was only a tiny chance of it working – preserve my life and land Radford in prison for his crimes.

But you know – the 28-volume, science fiction, swashbuckling historical romance, tell-all potboiler, mystery, satire, buddy cop adventure, tragedy, how-to action novel writer inside me tells me to keep the details of the plan to myself right now.

As well as the story of how I found out the machine could kill me if tried it on.

I'll just continue with the story I dropped a few paragraphs before this.

.

The beauty of the world was unfolding around me in a way I'd never noticed before. Knowing it all might be gone soon.

Reader, what do you see when a leaf blows off a tree?

Leaves are _green!_ I know you know that. But honestly – look harder! They're _green!_ What is green? It's like a blend of Scottish highlands and wild moors and the bright vibrant life of a tiny insect. And the stem of a leaf is brown. A colour considered by most to be sort of dirty. But what's wrong with dirt? When dirt's damp, and you can smell the plants and clouds in it. It's glorious.

What's a raindrop? What's a bird? What's a blade of grass?

I had never felt more alive, more aware of the world, than when I was about to meet my potential doom.

I let the wind blow through my hair on the top of the hill there, lay back, and soaked in the last feeble drops of rain I might ever feel, the last breaths of precious, clean air I might ever breathe.

.

And then I got on a stuffy Tube train to central London, heart pounding in my neck, floundering desperately in the waves of nervousness breaking in my chest.

_Breathe,_ I thought, _Breathe, don't suffocate before you have to –_

And then I was in front of the depressing, nondescript building I was scheduled to enter. I was pushing open the doors, shunning the elevator and walking up the stairs, savouring the sensation of the cold rail against my fingers.

I was there, shaking the hand of the man who meant to murder my brother, but had ended up with me as a victim.

I glanced around – it was all perfect, or as perfect as it would ever be. There were legal witnesses, standing around and looking bored. They were only here to see that everyone adhered to the paperwork, but they were a huge part of my plan. How could I prove Radford had attempted murder if there was no one to prove it to?

"Can I ask one of your mechanics a question?" I said, throat dry. I was trying to overcome my natural shyness, but I couldn't get myself to speak above a murmur.

"Sure, kid," Radford said, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. One step closer to life.

A greasy, dirty man with overalls stretched tight over a bulging stomach stepped forward at Radford's bidding. I cleared my throat and managed to talk a little louder.

"Is everything on this machine-" I glanced back at Phineas' invention – "Working the way it's supposed to be?"

"Yeah," the man said, "Checked it over this morning."

I nodded.

"I'd like to share with everyone here what an _innovative_ project this is," I said, feeling, despite the enormous vocabulary offering itself to me, that I was running out of words. I hadn't talked this much for months, maybe years. "I brought a small screen here, that will, if hooked up to my step-brother's machine, show the entire process of its work."

One of the legal witnesses nodded, still looking bored.

Radford shook his head. "No, you can't make adjustments like that."

"But surely," I said, praying I wouldn't have to speak for too much longer, "It's not illegal to show how something works. Here – I'll show you how this screen works." I detached the front from the back and displayed to the room a network of hair-thin wires webbed across the back of a see-through screen. "This can't take or store video, as you can clearly see," I said, holding up the screen and back for all to see and making a point of its thinness and inability to store any kind of image in and of itself, "But it can translate the waves you're using here into a video image. See, nothing harmless."

I plugged it into the machine, and then handed it to one of the legal witnesses. "If it works," I said, "It should target this area." I drew out a Sharpie marker and outlined the rough shape of a brain, then circled the part of the brain where memory is stored.

If you're wondering how I knew how to draw a brain – you have no idea how much research I put into this plan. It was only my _life_ depending on it.

"Watch the screen, _please," _I whispered to the witness, who nodded.

.

There was no more set-up to be done. This was it.

.

Phineas' memory-erasing contraption had a close-fitting helmet-like iron shell that fit over my head, and I took my place in the chair under it, thinking of dentists and leaning back in unpleasant seats throughout my childhood.

And then the world went black as the shell came down.

.

I don't panic easily. In fact, I think that was the closest I ever came to hyperventilating, sitting there, helpless, waiting for the machine to warm up.

_Slow your heart rate,_ I thought. _Confuse it. Confuse it, that's the key…_

How was I supposed to slow my heart rate? I could go over the basic facts, what I knew to be true of my situation – that might help calm me.

Okay – I knew Radford had meddled with the contraption because of an earlier inspection I had made, before I had signed up to try it instead of Phineas. I could tell it was messed up, programed wrong.

My heart rate wasn't calming. No, stay focused. Think simple. Think analytical. The machine had been built by my brother but modified by someone else. The two different inventors might make it susceptible to confusion. If I appeared composed, relaxed, aware of my fate and happy to die, it would meet with something unexpected - a willing victim… something that might make it lower its security for just a split second as it read me. And that split second might be all it took for me to attack it mentally. Dismantle it, make it unable to kill me –

There was a beeping sound.

It was ready.

.

And, in that moment, so was I.

I guess that's just me. Sort of blank, seemingly oblivious, not emotional. I suppose that collectedness that has been a disadvantage in other places saved my life here. When it came time to act – it wasn't half as bad as waiting on the edge.

_Take me,_ I thought. My heart was pounding, but it wasn't fear, but resolution, that drove it. _Go ahead. Kill me. _

A split-second's pause – and then jagged shards of glass seemed to rip through my head, embedding themselves painfully deep in my brain.

I let out a soft gasp as the breath vanished from my lungs.

No!

I opened my mouth and gulped at the oxygen all around me, focusing as hard as I could on pushing the spikes in my mind out, up, away.

That minute lasted hours.

I shivered with concentration as breathing became harder and harder, as my hope became smaller and smaller – until I was stifled, until my cause seemed a lost one, until I fluttered on the edge of consciousness and my heart's beats were petering out.

And still, I kept resisting. _One more second, give me one more second and I'll throw it off,_ I thought, and even when I had faded beyond coherent thought, the basic emotion of defiance pulsed through me, holding together my battered, bruised brain.

And then, as suddenly as the pain had come, it was gone, and I could breathe again.

For a second, I just sat there, sucking in great lungfuls of life-giving air.

Then I summoned enough energy to be happy.

_I won. I did it._

_._

The pressure of the skull-helmet lifted off me, and I fell to my knees on the beautiful, hard floor, energy seeping slowly back into my limbs.

.

Hands were helping me up, people were asking in faraway voices if I was all right.

"Are you okay?" someone asked, right in my ear.

"I think I might need a doctor," I whispered, then let myself black out.

.

When I woke up, I was still in the room I had tested the machine in. People were still leaning over me, but this time, one of them was a man in a very clean white coat.

"Can you hear me?" he asked me as I blinked up at him.

I nodded, and pushed myself up on one arm, feeling very dizzy.

A glass of water was being offered to me. I accepted the water gratefully, and watched as the world resolved itself back into high definition, as the people around me seemed to sharpen from two hundred and forty pixels of vertical resolution to one thousand eighty.

"Frank Fletcher, is it?" the doctor asked.

"I prefer Ferb." I whispered, then looked around. "What happened?"

"The machine you just tested targeted some vital areas of your brain. Thanks to one of the witnesses today, who had the screen you gave him, we have this information – but I haven't been able to assess the extent of the damage yet."

I let my head fall softly back onto the floor. So they knew. They already knew the machine had targeted important brain cells, not just memories. That was half my work done, right there… now all I had to do was accuse Radford of attempted murder and –

"Are there police here?" I asked.

"Naturally – you almost died. Consider yourself lucky you're still here, consider yourself lucky you're still able to talk and think."

I nodded, then tried to raise myself to my feet.

The doctor stopped me. "Try sitting first."

I pushed myself up, and backwards a yard or two, so my back was resting against the wall.

"Can I ask you a few questions to get an idea how much the machine affected your mind?"

I nodded.

"What grade are you in?"

"Four."

"Grade four? Aren't you a little young to be testing machines like this?"

I nodded again, a sense of urgency pulsing inside me.

"I want to establish the part of your brain dealing with math skills is all right. If you could –"

"Three point one four, one five, nine two six five," I said, speeding through the numbers of pi as fast as I could, "Three five eight nine seven nine three, two three eight four six, two six four, three, three, eight, three, two seven nine, five zero –"

I stopped, looked up expectantly at the doctor, who was staring down at me with an appraising expression, his eyebrows drawn together at the middle.

I sighed with exasperation, and started up again. "Two, eight, eight four one nine seven, one six nine, three, nine, nine, three seven five one zero –"

"You're in the fourth grade?" he asked. "Did you have this ability before you tried on this machine?"

"Yes," I said, wanting to cry. _Too many questions. Too many questions! I want to stop talking! I can't bear it! _Phineas was always the one who explained. He was the one who did the talking. "He's more a man of action." "He keeps most of his thoughts to himself, yeah." The echoes of the defenses he offered me against other people's prying questions bounced across the intervening months and years, useless to me now. "Ferb? He doesn't talk much." And, my favorite – "No, nothing's _wrong_ with him! He's just quiet, for Pete's sake! Why do _we _talk so much? Maybe it's our problem."

The corners of my mouth twitched. That one always made me smile.

I blinked back the tears, and hoisted myself to my feet. The doctor supported me, and I was able to stand.

I looked across the room, and there was Edwin Radford. His face was slightly confused, but otherwise quite stoic.

_Oh, I'm not ready for this, _I thought. The prospect of speaking at length again seemed incredibly daunting.

_One last hurdle,_ I assured myself, and then strode over to the corner where several policemen stood.

"Just a technical issue," one said, scribbling absentmindedly on a pad of paper. "Nothing to worry about."

I plucked up my courage, feeling very small in this group of grown men. "Excuse me?"

The men looked down at me, and I rubbed my ear nervously as I spoke. "_Is_ this just a technical issue? When I was here a few weeks ago, inspecting the machine I just tested, I noticed something seemed wrong with it. Radford said I wasn't allowed to change it, back then, for some technical reason, but I knew it was messed up."

"I'm sure this is hard for you," one of the policemen said condescendingly, "But it was just a little glitch –"

"The areas of the brain the rays were supposed to target, back then, were the ones it targeted today," I pressed on. "My brother wouldn't have built it that way, not if he himself was willing to test it. The only person who had access to the machine between the time my brother got sick and the time I came along was –"

"Mr. Fletcher," one of the policemen said, and I was glad to hear the patronizing tone in his voice was gone, "That is a very serious accusation to make."

"Radford's workers checked it over this morning. They said it was working perfectly. There are lots of witnesses who heard them say that."

There was silence.

"Are you saying Edwin Radford attempted to kill you?"

"I think it's my brother he was after, actually."

* * *

><p><em>That<em> was a tiring day. So many questions. So many answers. So much talking. At the end, my throat was raw and sore, my tongue felt as if it was buzzing, vibrating, sensitive to the smallest movement – if I swallowed or gasped, it would twinge uncomfortably.

I'm not the sort of boy to vent my feelings, but if I had let myself, at the end of the day, I would've kicked something – hard – and then danced around the room.

I had been forced to speak so long I had a splitting headache – I just wanted everyone to shut up and leave me alone. On the other hand, Edwin Radford, while not in prison, was well on his way. I was alive. And I was going to see Phineas again.

* * *

><p><strong>So, about the next chapter. I've got it way more planned out than this one, I feel better about it, and thus, it'll probably be a lot of a shorter wait between this one and the next one than the wait between the last one and this one.<strong>

**While you're waiting, could you review and tell me what you thought of the chapter? Did you love it? Did you HATE it? Was it awkward? Jumbled? Confusing?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Told ya it would be faster! Presenting, the climax!**

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><p>June 5 – The Fast and the Phineas<p>

6:57 pm

Phineas Flynn

.

_I'm a murderer._

The fact wouldn't leave me alone. All through that day, the conviction stayed with me, rotting my insides, poisoning the one piece of good news I had received in months: I was finally well enough to leave the hospital.

_I killed him, I killed him._

I tossed and turned in the stupid bed I had been in all these endless days, twisting the too-clean sheets into a knotty mess. I stared blankly at the pale walls, their pristine colour annoying me. So white, so clean. The opposite of my selfish heart.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Flynn," a nurse announced, and I looked up, startled.

Guess who it was?

Well, you probably already know. But I sure wasn't expecting him.

Ferb, the boy I had made no move to save, peeked around the edge of my door.

I almost jumped out of my skin. It was definitely him. The green hair, the hesitant pose, and the eyes, so easy for me to read…

"What kind of medication have they put me on now?" I asked. "Are you really there, or is this just me?"

Ferb approached my bed, and sat down beside me.

The silence built –

And built –

Until I stuck my fingers in my ears and squeezed my eyes shut. "Leave me alone," I mumbled.

He gently removed my fingers from my ears, and I looked up at him. He was smiling ever so slightly.

_Don't put anything deep in your ears like that. It's dangerous. You could really hurt yourself._

"Ah!" I spread my arms wide and fell back on the pillows, limp like a rag doll. But this time, I wasn't angry at him. I was angry at myself.

"Ferb, you should go home. Leave me here."

He shook his head.

"Ferb –" I moaned. Why did the last seconds before my brother learned to hate me have to be so painful? Why'd he have to be so friendly and protective? I didn't want to tell him. But if I didn't tell him – he'd loathe me even more. He'd just find out from someone else.

"How did you survive?"

I looked up at him, and saw no flicker of wonder or confusion. He just smiled again. _It's complicated._

He didn't put two and two together? He wasn't confused that I knew he should've died? Then I'd have to tell him outright.

Why? What a cruel world. It's like pressing your own self-destruct button, telling your best friend that you let them risk their life and mental health because you were too selfish and scared to stop them. Every second, buckets of guilt and bitterness, heavy like rocks, spilled all over my insides. All I wanted was another summer of inventing, just for fun, with my bro and my friends. But it was all out of reach now. I had dug myself into a pit with no way of climbing out.

Ferb put a hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off, knowing I wasn't worthy of the touch of such a brave and selfless boy. In a minute, when I told him, when I confessed, he'd probably be disgusted he ever tried to comfort me in the first place.

"Ferb," I said, turning over and smothering my voice in my pillow, "I _knew_ that _stupid_ machine was gonna try and kill you." The words inched out, every one filled with self-hatred and anger.

.

"I know."

.

He knew.

The tears came, deep and wracking, pulling me up and down with their force, the sobs that I couldn't stop. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to live. 'Cause, what was the point, anyway?

"Shhh!" Ferb hushed me, laying both his hands on my shoulders now, lifting me up into a sitting position, looking at me with a desperately concerned expression.

He didn't hug me, he just held me at arm's length, his hands steady on my shaking shoulders. The security and peace radiating from him calmed me slightly – it dried my tears, at least. Mere touch couldn't heal that ache of guilt inside me.

"Shhh," he breathed again. "_I forgive you_."

I tried to give a disbelieving laugh, but my nose was runny and the sound came out as a choked hiccup.

He looked at me seriously.

"I'm going to bring you home," he said. "You don't belong here."

"Oh, F-Ferb, you don't know the filth inside me," I whispered. "I can't be part of Danville again. I can't be one of your family. I c-can't be your brother." I swallowed – it was hard. The words seemed to be sticking in my throat. "If I don't belong here, in the place that's become hell for me, then I don't belong anywhere. I told you – I - I let you risk your life, instead of me. I knew how dangerous it was, and I let you. _You don't know who I am_."

Ferb drew back and looked me straight in the eyes. His face was intense, blazing with determination.

"Listen to me, brother. Those words, they're lies. It's you who don't know who you are. What makes you think the dazzled fakes of London can declare the true design of who you are? One knows, and only one, who Phineas is. And it's not me.

And when you're done with dabbling in the darkness here – all dazzling as it is—you'll see the light, and take my hand, and we'll go home."

He took me by the shoulders and shook me gently. "Awake, oh sleeper, from the grave, you're a son, and not a slave."

I couldn't see his face anymore. My eyes were too full of tears.

* * *

><p><strong>90% of the credit for that scene goes to John Piper for his amazing poem "The Prodigal's Sister", in which he writes these stunning lines:<strong>

**.**

"**I'm here,**

**To bring you home," she said, "it's clear**

**You don't belong." "As clear as mud.**

**Look, Hahya, you don't know the crud**

**Inside. You don't know who I am."**

"**Hear this, my brother, I do damn**

**Those words and call them lies. It's you**

**Who don't know who you are. It's true**

**There is a mystery. What makes**

**You think the dazzled dupes and fakes**

**Of Noash can declare the true**

**And wonderful design of who**

**You are? One knows, and only one,**

**Who Níqvah is. And when you're done**

**With dabbling in the darkness here –**

**All dazzling as it is—the clear,**

**Bright air of eastern skies will bring**

**You home to him. And I will sing.**

**Awake, O sleeper, from the grave,**

**You are a son and not a slave."**

**.**

**I couldn't put the words Ferb needed to say any better. So I basically used this speech. Hope you guys don't mind!**

**And don't worry, this story isn't over yet :)**


	10. Chapter 10

June 5 – The Fast and the Phineas

7:20

Ferb Fletcher

.

It was an overcast day in London – again – but the plane rose above the rain.

"It's always bright up here," Phineas grinned, looking down at the fluffy tops of the clouds.

Our tickets said he was in the middle seat, and I was by the window, we immediately traded.

I have enough experience flying with Phineas to know that letting him watch the sky and the ground below is extremely entertaining. He tells you fantastic stories without realizing it. They're childish stories, but I loved to listen. "Hey, look," he'd say, pointing down at something I couldn't see. "I betcha that's not really what it looks like. What does it look like? Well, it looks like a lake. But it's really a big puddle of 7up. It's the local soda reservoir. Sure, it _used_ to be a lake, but –" and so on.

Of course, London, his sickness, and his despair had taken a toll on his lively behaviour. His voice was slightly hollow, and his eyes lacked their usual fascinated glow.

And during one particularly interesting story about a pharmacist, pop-up ads, and a wombat, he trailed off so many times I wondered what was wrong.

He caught the look on my face, and laid his head on the folding tray in front of him. He was still for several long minutes, and then he held out his arms.

I knew what he wanted, and handed him Perry, who chattered and snuggled against his chest.

"What did mom say when I ran away?"

"She doesn't know. She thinks she went to live with your dad."

"And Isabella? Does she know? What about Candace?"

I sighed. "Everyone else knows."

"What am I going to say? Who would want to be my friend anymore, after that?"

"I still want to be your brother," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're different. Seriously, if Isabella left the neighbourhood, became famous, and totally abandoned all the stuff we were planning on doing, I'd be pretty mad!"

"But if she came back, when it looked like she was never going to? Would _that _make you angry?"

He stroked Perry, deep in thought, looking out at the clouds as if they held the answers to all the secrets of the world.

Just like I had done, on the ride into London.

_Epiphany time,_ I thought with a smile.

* * *

><p>The sun was going down by the time we arrived in Danville. The shadows lay stretched out, sprawled on the ground among the flowers and the gently waving grasses as we walked, side by side, up Maple Drive. There was no pause, no glance between us when we reached our house. We simply walked up the pathway that spanned our yard and knocked on the door.<p>

It was like we had just been out for the day, except for the fact that there were heavy suitcases behind us, and both of us wore backpacks.

There was no answer.

I rang the doorbell.

Still, no answer.

I tried the handle – it was, after all, still my house.

It turned, and we went inside, dumping our luggage on the floor of the living room.

"I wonder where everyone is," Phineas said with a shudder.

I put a hand on his shoulder. _Do you really think anything bad happened? The only person who might seek revenge is on his way to prison. We've got nothing to fear._

He got the gist, I think, because he breathed out and looked around.

"Let's check the backyard."

We walked to the back door, and caught voices.

"They're in the backyard!" Phineas exclaimed, and jumped to open the door. I pulled him back – I had a strange urge to hear what they were saying. Were they talking about us? Wouldn't that be serendipitous? If we walked in when they were mourning us? Like in _Tom Sawyer_?

I pushed my ear against the wood.

There was a babble of conversation, and then my father's voice broke through the murmur.

"We thank you all for your help over the last little while. It was so generous of you to give us so much of your time and energy –"

Huh. Not talking about us after all. But it sounded like they weren't alone, like they had some company.

Oh, well. Company added dramatic effect.

I opened the door.

.

I was right. They weren't alone. The backyard was stuffed with people. It looked like everyone from Maple Drive was here, along with some others. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed Vanessa Doofenshmirtz in the crowd. What was she doing here?

She seemed to sense my gaze, because her eyes flicked in my direction.

Then they widened. A cry died on her lips as she covered her mouth with her hands.

"It's Ferb!"

There was complete silence for a second, and then, one by one, everyone turned to look at Phineas, Perry, and I, standing in the backdoor.

"Um," said Phineas, and his eyes were wet. "I – I'm sorry, everyone. This was all my fault. I was –"

A sound like a tidal wave striking land smothered his speech as everyone in the crowd stood up, crying out and exclaiming and rushing toward us.

The first to reach us were mom and dad, who gathered all three of us up in their arms and held us tight. They were crying and laughing, and everything was confused, everything was a huge jumble of running bodies and shouting neighbours.

But in the midst of the storm, I looked over at Phineas, and he met my gaze. He was smiling. Smiling the biggest smile I'd ever seen on his face.

I had been right. This wasn't an angry crowd, of course not. This was an overjoyed crowd. Because the lost son had come home.

* * *

><p><strong>I think you guys all know what it's like to get a review. It's like a little email-bundle of joy in your inbox! I've been blessed with a lot so far :) but if you feel like giving advice or anything – or just a plain old review – then, you know, click the magical button down there … and please don't forget to criticize!<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

June 5 – The Fast and the Phineas

7:47

Phineas Flynn

.

_That_ was an awesome day. I don't know how to tell you how good if felt to be hugged and kissed and brought into the kitchen for pie, to sit among happily chatting people and feel the love and joy soaking in around me – totally undeserved bliss.

I found out everyone was here because my dad wanted to thank them for helping look for my brother.

No one could be angry that evening. There were hamburgers and French fries, giggles and high-fives.

There were also a _lot_ of tears.

Vanessa Doofenshmirtz and Ferb were hanging out, and I overheard her tell my brother that she had been looking for him because she was afraid her dad might've kidnapped him.

It struck me as a really odd thing to say, but Ferb didn't really seem to notice. He was just staring at her. He looked pretty happy.

It's a weird world.

Isabella stuck around me all evening, which I didn't mind. She's a really good friend, and there was so much to catch up on.

The sun went completely down, and Ferb and I set up a bonfire out back. Then the s'mores were brought out, and we all became gooey, chocolaty messes. Most of the crowd was gone, and the ones that weren't were the true friends, the ones who hadn't asked me what had happened yet, because they knew I wouldn't want to discuss it in public.

I looked around the circle, staring at the firelit faces, and prayed they wouldn't ask me for the story, not yet.

"So, Phineas," Isabella said – "What happened?"

I put my face in my hands, careful to avoid the sharp stick on which a melting marshmallow was impaled.

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Isabella spoke up.

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," she said, leaning close to me so our faces were almost touching. Her hair sort of fell around us, like a curtain, cutting us off from the rest of the group. There were red patches on her cheeks and her eyes were really bright, probably because of the heat from the fire, and the smoke.

"Um… it's – it's okay." I looked up, and she drew away. "You guys all deserve the truth. I – I'm just not –"

I sighed.

"You know, I ran away to live in London. I invented. I did all sorts of stuff – and then – well, you see, one day I was on the Tube, and I didn't mind the gap between the train and the platform area. My foot caught – and I definitely would've fallen if someone hadn't reached out and grabbed me in the nick of time. This person invited me for tea back at his house, and –"

And so I told them a wildly invented story, a story no one in their right minds would swallow. It wasn't lying, because who the heck would believe I got my teeth stuck together with peanut butter and had to have an hour operation at the dentists' to get back to normal? It was my way to tell them I wasn't ready to share the real story. Not yet.

.

The following days were a bit harder. Mom sort of snapped at me and Ferb once the euphoria had worn off, and I don't blame her.

I also gave up inventing, which made my hands and feet and brain itch.

Yeah, I know, Phineas Flynn, giving up on inventing?

Well, it sort of scared me. My last invention had such destructive force.

But my brain itched so bad, eventually I had to tell Ferb about it.

It was June third – two days ago – that I eventually asked him what I should do.

He told me to invent for fun. So that everyone else could enjoy.

"I still feel scared," I said.

He handed me a book. "Get it off your chest, then."

I opened the book, and it was blank. This journal.

I touched the pages, flipped through them, imagined putting pen to paper. It did make me feel a little better – just a little. Maybe confessing the whole thing would take away the fear.

I closed the journal, and ran my thumb over the cover. It reminded me -

"Why did you leave me your favourite book, when I was in the hospital?"

He looked at me for a long time. "I wanted to leave a piece of me behind," he finally said. "The book was the only thing I could think of. I just wanted you to know that I'd always come back."

* * *

><p>We went outside to sit under the tree in the backyard, to chill, to listen to the radio.<p>

If I had come to relax, I had turned on the wrong station. "Blow the whole day off," a voice said through the speaker.

Something flared inside. I had blown my whole _life_ off so far – why should I waste another day?

"Ferb, if we let a little heat stop us from having the best day ever – then the morning DJs win," I said, standing up. "I know what we're going to do today! Let's build a beach! _In the backyard!"_

And so summer began.

* * *

><p><strong>The end.<strong>

**The end of the little story that said, "Write me! I'll be done in a week!"**

**It was a terrible liar, but a lot of fun.**

**So, everyone, THANK YOU for reading the Confessions of Phineas Flynn. As JK Rowling, my favourite author and writing role model once said, "No story lives unless someone wants to listen." You guys made this thing alive.**

**I'm planning on revising this in the future, editing it and stuff, so I'd REALLY like feedback on what you think I should keep and what I should trash. Or any other observations/comments you have. Or ANY review.**

**I salute you all.**

**PhoenixGirl is out, PEACE!**

**.**

**PS: Sorry there wasn't as much Phineas x Isabella in the last chapter as maybe some of you hoped (I got a request for some). But this story is set before the summer, and during the summer, Phineas is totally oblivious to Izzy. Also, it's his viewpoint, so what can you do? But there's more than there was originally.**

**.**

**PPS: I forgot to do a disclaimer so here it is: I don't own Phineas and Ferb! Obviously.**


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